


The Subterfuge

by Jaetion



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Dragon Age AU, Gangsters, Kink Meme, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaetion/pseuds/Jaetion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even the Templars would dare to jimmy his lock and break into the hole-in-a-wall Nathaniel Howe calls an office.  But someone has and that someone is still there, waiting at his desk with a job offer that he can't resist.  A fill for the DA kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Subterfuge

I got nothing from the job but a headache and a report for the Chief that made no one happy. I took the stairs up to my office slow, passing the arguing couple of elves on the first floor, the poorly disguised apostate on the second, finally getting to the hole the landlord brazenly rented as an office. "Nathaniel Howe," said the writing on the glass, like the name meant something more than half kept promises and half paid bills.

When I touched the knob it jiggled against my palm and I knew the door's lock had been jimmied. I flattened myself against the wall and slid my gun from its holster, straining my ears for voices inside. In the silence I ran through a list of enemies I'd made over the years, but couldn't come up with anyone who wanted me dead enough to follow me to Denerim, and no burglar would bother with a bare-bones office in the poor side of town.

With my back still against the wall I twisted the knob slowly, quietly. No voices, no noise of any kind but the low drone of the ceiling fan. When the hinges started to creak I pushed through and swept the room - Still quiet and nearly empty. Just one thing out of place: the man sitting at my desk.

Sleeping at my desk.

He didn't move beyond taking slow, steady breaths. His feet were propped up between the telephone and the ashtray, and his hat tipped down to his nose. I closed the door and tucked the gun back into place as I studied him. There was a familiarity about him, or maybe just the way he'd moved himself in like he owned the place. A dark pinstripe suit, gray vest but no jacket, white shirt with a green tie; a bulge in the vest pocket that wasn't from a gun. The hat was for blocking the weak afternoon sunlight that made it through the broken blinds, not for hiding his identity.

I circled him to get a better look. I should have known, maybe I did and the hair just confirmed it: strawberry blond pulled back, matching stubble. "Anders!" I said in surprise, and he stirred at his name but didn't waken. Shoving his feet off the desk did it, though.

"Hey!" he yelped as he fumbled to keep his balance. The hat fell into his lap, revealing the scruffy good looks that had made Anders so popular back at the barracks. He was thinner than the last time I'd seen him, with dark smudges of shadows under his eyes, and I stared, wondering what he had been through since we both left Amaranthine. As he frowned and blinked awake, I slipped my hand into his vest pocket and pulled out a thick envelope.

"What are you doing here?" I asked as I flipped through his papers: cash in small bills, some letters, a fake passport. "And what are you doing with these?"

He grinned, cat-like, and the old feeling of irritation flooded through me. "Nate," he drawled, spinning the chair to face me. "You're looking good. Better than I remember."

"Drop the flattery and answer my questions."

"And I thought you were a detective." He shook and heaved a sigh. "Such a disappointment."

I dropped his missives onto the desk. "And what was so important that you had to break in rather than wait for me to come back?"

A lock-pick appeared in his palm and he twirled it around with long fingers. "I've known a few rogues in my day. And I have clever hands."

"If it's Warden business, take it up with the Chief," I said, telling myself to ignore his flirty tone.

He was still smiling, but it seemed like the corners of his lips drooped. "I can't," he replied in a voice gone suddenly flat. "I deserted."

"What?" I stopped pacing and gawked at him. "You can't - No one can -"

"I did."

I fell onto the small couch and rubbed my forehead. My knuckles brushed over the felt rim of my hat and I realized belatedly I was still in my coat. I pulled it off and dropped my hat on top of it, then tugged at the too-tight knot of my tie. "Start from the beginning."

The chair creaked under him as he shifted. "I need your help," he said at last. "I'll tell you what you need to know for that, but that's all."

"A job?"

"Should be easy for you. Even if you aren't a detective like the sign on you door claims."

"Spit it out."

"I need to get out of Ferelden. Soon. Without anyone finding out."

"Templars?"

He nodded slowly. "And the Chief."

"How soon?"

"Tomorrow. Couple of days at most."

It was rare enough for him to be serious, but his expression was serious to the point of intense. He'd made a steeple of his fingers and was staring over them at some point on the wall, seeing something beyond me. I pulled out a crinkled pack of cigarettes and found a matchbook on the coffee table. "All right," I said as I lit one. "I know some people who might help if properly persuaded."

Suddenly he was all grins again, his white teeth flashing sharply in the fading light. "I'll make it up to you," he practically purred the promise. "Ready to go?"

"Go?" I repeated stupidly. "Where?"

"Your place," he said with a shrug, like it should have been obvious.

"I have work to do," I informed him, which was true for once. Nothing much, nothing interesting, nothing the Chief wanted, but a few cases that I had to update.

"Then I'll have to wait for you, won't I?" He rose from my chair in a careless, fluid motion, then brushed the wrinkles out of his vest with those talented fingers. I jerked my eyes up to the slow, rotating blades of the ceiling fan. He sighed as he strolled around the desk to the couch. The pinstripes made him look taller, leaner, and I tensed in spite of myself when he stood over me. "Unless you care to join me, I'm going back to sleep."

Anders left me in yet another moment of muteness, and it took my brain an inordinate amount of time to realize that he meant to nap on the couch. I exhaled a breath of smoke and stood too. "Couple of hours is all I need."

He reached over and plucked the cigarette from my lips for a drag. His eyes were half-hooded by heavy lids and long golden eyelashes, but I could see amusement in them when they flickered over my face. "Too bad," he said through another grin. "You look like you could use a bit of sleep. Or maybe just some time in bed."

He moved aside to let me pass; I could feel his eyes trailing me like a templar but I refused to meet them. The chair was still warm from his body when I sat down, making me almost want to get up again, maybe see how serious Anders was being for once. Instead I shoved the typewriter to the corner of the desk and pulled out the files on the cases I'd wasted my morning on. The photos in the files stared blankly up at me and I stared back before shoving those away, too, and reaching for the phone.

The sky between the slots of the blinds was a red and orange when I finished my notes. Across the room Anders was still sprawled on the couch. He'd been polite enough to kick off his shoes, and his legs and socked feet danged over the armrest. I smoked sullenly, berating myself for agreeing to help without an explanation. A thousand questions buzzed like angry bees: where he’d been, why he’d run, why he was still running. Desertion was tantamount to treason, and I knew the Chief would see it as a personal betrayal. I had never understood the circumstances of his conscription; the Chief kept her secrets closer than her gun and Anders’ joked away any investigations. I’d always had my assumptions, however. The Chief had saved me from disgrace and death, halting an execution set in motion before she’d even taken on her position. But that was the Chief’s modus operandi; she wasn’t just acting, wasn’t just fulfilling a job. She was the hero. Velanna, Sigrun, they’d been conscripted the same.

I leaned against the cool metal of the file cabinet and looked through the slats of the blinds at the street below. Workers from the docks were trickling in; soon the factories would empty too and the bars would fill. A slow white shimmer swam through the filling streets, moving lazily around the corner. A templar car, extending their territory into parts of the city historically on the Guard’s beat. Were they looking for Anders or just for trouble?

Like he’d cast a spell, my eyes and thoughts kept being drawn to the man slumbering on my couch. I stubbed out the cigarette and stalked closer, then crouched down to examine him. If he wasn’t going to volunteer information, I’d uncover it on my own.

The suit was new, cuffs pristine and the shirt’s collar unturned. I wasn’t about to reach down his shirt or vest to look for tags, but I suspected it was store-bought, not tailored - a little tight in the shoulders,a little short in the legs. I gambled a touch of the red tie, Anders murmured but didn’t wake - Silk, good quality. Too good for a warden’s salary. All of it.

His hat was on the coffee table. Unlike the rest of his clothes, the hat wasn’t new: in my hands it was soft, the brim dipping. I frowned as I turned it over and held it up in the fading light; the label was nearly worn away, but there was a barely legible name: Finn. If that was a company, I didn’t recognize it. A previous owner?

I set it gently down and turned back to Anders. Some of his hair had slipped free and it whispered back and forth to his slow, steady breaths. My hand moved and I brushed the silky hair behind his ear and Anders mumbled and turned into the touch, nuzzling a softly scruffy cheek against my palm.

I stood up fast and dug my fingers into the knot of my tie, loosening the too tight noose. When even unbuttoning the top of my shirt didn’t release the pressure, I flung open the window, letting in cool salty air and the grumbling sounds of the city. Night was falling with a clamor and a rumble, waking up the dark parts that had slept the dingy day away. The breeze cooled the sweat off my chest and a second gust made me shiver. Shadows were lengthening, spilling onto the road in black puddles that were sliced by the neon signs of night clubs.

A loud honk from an angry cab woke Anders. I watched as he stirred and then stretched, raising his long arms up to crack his back. He said in a voice still low and slow from sleep, “Not the most comfortable place to nap.”

“Surprised you managed to sleep at all.”

“I can sleep anywhere,” he scoffed. “I learned from the best.”

“You ready to answer some questions?” I asked, steering the conversation away from his cat. “You want my help, you have to earn it.”

“Ask away.”

“Why are you running? Why now?”

“I changed my mind,” he announced. “Let’s talk about Pounce.”

“Did you commit some sort of crime?”

“Not... technically. Besides stealing this suit, of course. And hat.” He grabbed it off the table and placed it on his head, pulling it down at an angle for a moment before he tossed it away again with a laugh. “Not a bad find, right?”

“Templars are out tonight,” I said abruptly, watching for his reaction. “Saw a patrol car go down Yusaris Boulevard.”

Anders froze, but it seemed like rather than fear paralyzing him, it was anger that made his shoulders go rigid and knuckles go white. I waited in silence as he released a long breath, composing himself with effort. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“We will. Once I know if I have to watch out for them now, too.”

Anders shook his head. He pulled the rubber band from his collapsing ponytail and held it with his teeth as he swept his hair back. The band was dark against his white teeth, and his lips pursed around it as he gathered up his ponytail. His movements were unthinking and sure, made efficient by countless repetitions. Clever hands, I thought again.

“They aren’t after me. Not yet, anyway.”

“They don’t know you’ve left the wardens,” I guessed and was rewarded by a caustic smile. “You aren’t just deserting, are you? You’re fleeing.”

“I prefer ‘escaping,’” he said with a pout. “If you can actually make it happen.”

“I made some calls.”

“Then let’s get going.”

“Answers first.”

“I’m not paying you to be my confessor.”

“You’re not paying me at all.” I pointed out. When he reached into the vest pocket, I waved my hand. “And you don’t need to.”

He hesitated for a moment, those long fingers hovering, then stood with a smile that threatened to turn into a full leer. “I’ll find some way to repay somehow.”

“Drop the act, Anders. You aren’t some femme fatale.”

“Can I be the dashing villain, then?”

I laughed in spite of myself. “I don’t think you have it in you.”

“Which part, dashing or villain?”

“Villain.”

Standing we were the same height. He was two steps away, close enough that in a moment I could have him, though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to grab him for a kiss or for a punch. Either way there was a longing to get my hands on him, an ache like an old wound that spread warm through my body. Anders’ eyebrows were raised and after a few seconds of silence and heart pounding, he titled his head slightly. “You’re staring, Nate. So you do think I’m dashing.”

If it’d been a punch, I would’ve been flat on my back. I rubbed my chin instead of responding. The game had gone on long enough, even for Anders. The phone screamed its shrill ring, saving me from taking that next step, and I made an arc around him to my desk, fumbled the receiver up to my ear. “Howe here.”

“You sound breathless. Did I interrupt something?”

Isabela’s warm voice purred through the line. I glanced at Anders before moving closer to my desk. “No,” I said, then quieter, “I was just... You got my message.”

“I did. Haven’t heard from you in ages, ducky. And then I get a note that you’re in need of some of my particular talents.”

There was a touch on my back, then full on pressure. Anders leaned against me to listen in, chin on my shoulder and breath on my ear.

I obligingly turned the phone so he could hear the conversation then asked her, “You in town for long?”

“I’ve got time for a few drinks,” she replied. “Not a late night, though. Girl’s gotta get her beauty sleep sometime.”

The casual tone hid the real meaning. She’d be packing and leaving, gone from the city by morning with a ship full of booze or counterfeit bills or whatever she was smuggling out this time. Isabela called herself a pirate, more romantic than what the guard did: smuggler. Her clandestine operations weren’t limited to mercantilism - the dame kept everything cloaked. Everything but the bits she flaunted. The relationship we had was business only; I shared my nights with my files, sharing drinks with the photographs of the dead the Chief had me chasing.

Easier to deal with the dead; they never tried to play me.

“Are you listening, lovely? Or did some templar finally stick it to you?”

“You could use a good sticking,” Anders murmured.

A shove from my elbow made him back off with a hurt pout. I shrugged my shirt back in place and switched the received to my other shoulder. Should have saved my energy: Anders was back immediately, that bad penny that always turned up. “How about dinner, Isabela?”

“Asking me on a date? Nathaniel Howe, I’d thought this day would never come. Now, are you a lace or leather sort of guy?”

“Not for me - For a friend. He needs someone to show him around.”

“A blind date. Haven’t been on one of those in ages. What do I get out of this?”

“What do you get out of this?” Anders asked me, amused under his pretense of meditation. Before I could tell him that it’d be a week of cold showers for me, he pressed closer and I swallowed audibly, hearing the noise echoed back over the phone line. Under the faint scent of smoke was a strange cleanness, like the air after a storm. My thoughts went haywire down that path and steering them back to business made me curse through clenched teeth, but finally I found a payment to offer the pirate. “That distribution charge. I’ll get it dropped to a misdemeanor.”

“You sweet thing,” Isabela sighed, her voice like warm honey, dripping invitations through the line. “Get here soon. I’ll wait around for about an hour - Don’t stand me up. And wear something revealing.”

Her goodbye was the click of the line as she hung up.

Anders’ step back was as quick as Isabela’s farewell. The weight, his warmth all disappeared as I hung up the phone. He’d gotten what he wanted: a way out guarded by a patsy and his willing accomplice. The game of nice-nice was over. In my line of work surprises came too often to be surprises, as unremarkable as cars in street. Didn’t mean they still didn’t hurt when they hit. Someday I'd listen to the warnings I gave myself.

I told myself that I knew he wasn’t serious from the start, that he was trouble the moment the Chief introduced us as brothers in crime. A pair of bright eyes and curving lips clasped me harder than handcuffs. The Chief called me romantic. Better word for it was fool.

“The bar’s ten blocks,” I told him, motioning toward the door. “At the piers. You move fast enough and the templars won’t catch up.”

“You aren’t coming?” The confusion suddenly turned to anger. “If it’s a trap-.”

“I don’t have the patience to go through all that trouble just to set you up. I could just yell out the window and templars would be at my door.”

He looked at me like I was speaking in tongues, and maybe I was, because the words sounded off even to me. There was another of the damned smothering silences, unbroken even by the night breeze leaking in through the open window. Anders flattened his lips and I rubbed the skin under my own, feeling the prickles of stubble there. I leaned back as I surveyed him. “I don’t do games. I don’t have time.”

“Neither do I. Not anymore.”

“Yeah, what do you call this? You’ve been playing with me since you busted through my front door. I’m not one of your barrack greenhorns, Anders-”

The push was hard and fast, fists followed by a kiss. I hit the desk, the lip of it bushing into the back of my thighs, his knee pushing between them. He slid his mouth over mine, adding the drag of his tongue over my lips, then dropped his head to bite at a spot under my jaw that made me see stars.

I grabbed the edge of the desk, weak and dizzy like I was drunk. Maybe I was - it would explain why my legs shook and eyes rolled up. Anders moved enough for the two of us, hands on my chest, flicking open buttons, then on my hips, then at my belt. His breath was hot on my neck and when he nudged his nose under my chin, I tilted my head obediently and the kisses he trailed over the artery there were scalding.

Want stabbed blade sharp and deep. I yanked the vest off, the suspenders down, the shirt open, got my fingers under the hem of the undershirt to rub the smooth skin of his stomach, to ruffle the blond hair that lead my fingers downward. Anders groaned against me and pressed the rest of his body as close as he’d been kissing, and that warm skin was like all the sins the Chantry had warned me about.

Anders didn’t bother with my blighted pants that were suddenly two sizes too small. He dragged his knuckles over the tight fabric under my belt and with fingers that moved faster than my breaths and smooth like they’d been oiled he opened the zipper and got to my cock.

When he stopped his strokes I grabbed at his wrist and yanked his hand back. “ Anders-”

“You’ve been so patient,” he said against my collarbone, then added teeth to his laugh. “Think I’d just leave you like this?”

“Tease.”

“Nothing you don’t deserve.”

He lay his palm against the head of my cock and in lazy circles worked his magic and cast his spells and the templars should have locked him up for public safety. He paused again and I got my thoughts back in order enough to realize that he was rocking against my thigh. When I looked up Anders’ eyes were hard like double shots of whiskey. He grinned and crushed a kiss against my lips, and before he could pull away I made a fist in his hair, yanking it free and holding him still for once to get my tongue against his.

My other hand was still locked around his wrist like a manacle. I released him and hooked my fingers over the hem of pants, tearing them from the clasps of his suspenders, and they dropped down his lean thighs compliantly. Smalls were pulled down just enough to allow me to touch him, to brush over the heat of his erection, to get him to groan my name like a curse.

I slid back on the desk and pulled him up with me. We shoved the papers onto the floor, pens and pencils, the ashtray. My back hit the phone, knocking it over; I turned around, fumbling with it to get it upright until Anders swept it off too. He climbed into my lap, knees sending the typewriter perilously close to the edge, and me too, with his hands still on my cock and mouth like ecstasy. He sat back on his haunches and caught both our erections at once with those demon-blessed clever hands of his.

“Don’t stop,” I growled and he chuckled again. “Anders-”

I gripped his shoulder, the skin under his undershirt was damp and slid under my hand. Back and forth, back and forth, while his hand went up and down, up and down. I curled my other arm around his slim waist, rewarded by a keening groan from Anders, who sped up his movements. The desk creaked under our weight and the damned typewriter shook with every thrust. I glanced at it for a moment, debating reaching out to grab it, but then his fingers pressed the vein under my shaft and -

It might have been me who came first. He kept rocking, pressing the hot wetness against my stomach as he lifted his hips for me to work my hands down to the back of his thighs. I held him up to me, trapping his hands between us, and let him kiss my ear, temple, forehead, while I forced my breaths into some semblance of steadiness.

“Could’ve done that ages ago,” he said lazily as he propped his chin on my shoulder. “You’re too damn good at evading.”

I made a noncommittal snort. I wanted to say something, a thanks maybe, or some sort of confession that would make him stay, but Anders, who’d stayed so quiet during sex, was making up for it now.

“I think I ruined this tie,” he said as he peeled something off my chest. “Not like I was going to return it. But I did like the color. And it’s so silky. Was. Was so silky. This is why I can’t have nice things. Yours can be salvaged. Hopefully. It wasn’t expensive, was it?”

I grunted and rolled him off of me and sat up to inspect the tie for myself. There wasn’t enough room on the desk for the both of us so I swung my legs and stood up, holding my pants up as I searched for my handkerchief. Anders, still on the desk with clothes askew, watched through heavy lidded eyes. “Could’ve done that ages ago,” he repeated with a long stretch. “Think about all the missed opportunities.”

I swiped the semen from my skin. It was clammy and cold already, and that helped me start thinking again, with my brain instead of my cock. I noticed his vest on the floor and pulled it free from the scattered sheets of paper. The wad of money and the passport in the pocket made it heavy. He’d stolen both from someone, and had already admitted the theft of his clothes.

There was a reason I hadn’t gotten involved with him, or anyone, back in the barracks: it was messy. And it was easy to get lost in that chaos. I tossed his vest and his plunder onto the table and started on buttoning my shirt, hoping that the damp stains would fade before anyone decent noticed. “You need to get moving if you want to keep your appointment.”

“You’ll come with me?”

He’d said it mildly enough. Maybe I was searching for something that wasn’t really there, but I nodded and might have even smiled. “You need someone to watch your back.”

It was a setup he could’ve taken, but Anders just nodded back, his expression thoughtful.

There wasn't much reason to dawdle around the office so I grabbed my coat and hat, hearing the soft brush of Anders' pants as he mimicked my movements. When I closed the door behind us, I glanced in at my darkened office, the window still open like a mouth in mid-scream. “There's an exit out back, leads to an alley that spits out on Yusaris. Meet me there. I'll go out front, see if there's anyone waiting for us.”

For a moment that anger was back, making his eyes bright and features hard. But then he nodded and gave me a salute. The neighbors were quiet for once as we creaked over the stairs down to the first floor, no domestic battles to break up or loan sharks to clear out. I jerked my thumb toward the back door and Anders slipped into the shadows and away. Out on the street I paused, taking my time lighting a cigarette to scope out the scene. A few drunks, a few bums, a suit uncomfortable about whatever business she was doing in this side of town. A truck rumbled down the boulevard, moving slow enough that the car behind drove so close to the bumper that it looked like it was practically trying to climb aboard. They passed without a glance at me, same with the next two vans that sped by. I strolled past a parked car, but it was empty.

Anders was leaning against the chain-link fence that tried ineffectively to block the alley off from the street. His head was down and he'd tilted his hat far enough that I could only see his lips under the rim. I didn't stop, just said as I walked by, “It's clear. Come on, we need to move.”

He fell into step behind me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. I pulled my hat down so the neighbors wouldn’t recognize me, wouldn’t ask questions that could overheard by tenacious templars. It was clear that Anders wasn’t through playing with me, though, and when a car swung around the corner hugging the curb he slung an arm around my shoulder to pull me down close.

“I’ll show you a good time tonight, ducky!” he called loud enough for the Chief to hear back in the barracks.

I grabbed my hat before he could knock it off. He twirled my tie around his hand and reeled me in for a kiss. His brown eyes were open, bright, and one of them winked at me as his tongue whispered over my lips. He let me go when the car drifted past.

“Admit it, Nate. You like me.”

“I’m not dizzy with you, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

He made a noise like he wasn’t buying it, but didn’t push any harder.

The Pearl was by the water, practically in it when the tide came in. Brine and booze and piss and perfume, the scents of the city condensed into a space barely big enough to contain the debauchery within. Smelled it first, then heard it, then finally as we turned a corner, saw it in all its glory. The templars avoided it, unless the recruits snuck away long enough to lose their first paycheck to some grifter or the lookers that Sanga hired to stick around the joint. The Chief had decided to look the other way when it came to the Pearl, and there had been rumors as to why she’d never shut it down. Nothing she’d confirm, and nothing I really believed, but interesting enough that I kept a listen out for the stories, and told them to Sigrun when she stopped in.

I pulled out my pocketwatch before nodding at Anders and motioning him to stick close. We steered clear of the main door and the drunk bouncer who was supposed to be guarding it, making our way to one of the side doors. There was another entrance down under the pier, but I didn’t want to risk Anders drowning us both in the oil-slick sea water.

We went through a storeroom first, full of buckets and a few mops I was sure had never seen the inside of the bar before. In the hallway were a pair of lovebirds, too busy with each other’s shirts to notice me and Anders slip by. There wasn’t room in the narrow space to be polite; I saw the facial tattoos of a Dalish in the dim light and wondered how many else of the People had managed to sneak across the border and into the city. They panted encouragement to each other, intimate noises that reminded me of what I’d been up to, and with who. But Anders passed them without comment and we left the couple to scramble against each other and make memories they’d regret in the sober morning.

Pushing through the door to the bar itself didn’t stir the air at all or turn any of the heads crowded around the bar. There was a canary on a guitar singing through the noise, the same old song I’d heard a hundred times from a hundred different people: something about heartbreak, something about loss, something about pain. A quick look for silver badges turned up nothing; a good sign, no templars around, not even for their own trysts.

“I don’t see any,” Anders said, echoing my observation. “Or wardens. Half expected the Chief to be here.”

“Let’s get this over with before she breaks up the party.”

The bar was dark, with lights on the ceiling that didn’t do much but jack up the electricity bill. That was Sanga’s intention, to keep it dark for people to hide from whatever it was they were trying to escape from. The pictures on the wall had long been stained from cigarette smoke. There were darts in the portrait next to me and holes in the wall around it, and I grabbed Anders’ elbow to pull him away before we saw first-hand how bad a drunk’s aim could be.

A throaty laugh ran like an undercurrent through it all and I shoved through the cluster of drunks toward the dark head of hair. Gold glimmered around her like she was gilded with it. I’d never been able to tell if her jewels were riches or baubles; with Isabela it could have gone either way. Instead of the neat suits and proper lines that was the fashion in the city, Isabela was all loose curves and flaunting swells. Someone moved aside suddenly and I saw her in profile: hair long and wild, a tie around her neck that was getting caught in her necklaces. She was in a men’s jacket with not a whole lot - or maybe nothing - under it.

Over my shoulder, Anders whistled and I turned to see him tip his hat back so he could get a better look.

I was going to warn him off, but suddenly there was someone at my side, hands on my arm. I jerked away and grabbed back, finding a wrist to pin behind the goon’s back.

“Watch it, pal!” whined the kid.

Just a kid, not a templar, not a warden. He had shaggy brown hair that hadn’t been combed or even washed in ages, and stubble that stuck down close to his yellow skin. A run-away, I guess and released him. Another kid appeared at his side, taller with a neater disposition, and dragged him back into the shadows. Neither of their faces were familiar, but I made a note of the color of their eyes and the cuts of the jackets to look them up later, to see if they’d been reported missing by anyone important. And then I felt for my wallet and my gun; just because the little scuffle had seemed like an accident didn’t mean it actually was.

“Thanks for protecting me,” Anders said with a chuckle.

He’d moved behind me, back toward the door, ready to make his escape if trouble started. Cowardly, I thought. But Anders had always been good at ducking away, even in the Barracks. I ignored him and kept moving toward Isabela. I stopped at the other end of the bar and rapped my knuckles on the wood to get the barkeep’s attention. A glass, not clean, was grudgingly deposited in front of me.

“What’ll you have?” the barkeep asked. She was about Sigrun’s height with none of Sigrun’s charm.

“What she’s having,” I replied, jerking my thumb down the bar at the pirate.

The barkeep’s eyes slid Isabela’s way. “Let me get the bottle,” she said and moved away.

A cloak and dagger act, the whole thing. Anders leaned against the bar next to me, his elbows on the counter as he leaned in to watch. It was loud in the joint, but not so much that I wouldn’t have been able to hear him in he started talking. That he wasn’t, that there was no running commentary from him made me wonder and I frowned down at him for a moment before going back to watch the barkeep. She sidled up to Isabela, making a fuss of refilling her drink to get the other woman’s attention.

Isabela leaned forward, her breasts pressing on the bar as she flirted. When the glass was more than filled, Isabela released the barkeep and then glanced down toward me. When our eyes met she raised her glass in a salute. A dark elf with the strangest Dalish tattoos I’d ever seen obligingly slid the bottle down the bar to me and I caught it before it tipped and poured myself a drink.

It was bathtub gin. Bad bathtub gin. I choked down a mouthful. Anders plucked the glass from my hand and sniffed at it careful. “You make this yourself?” I demanded when I could speak again, resisting the urge to wipe my mouth on my sleeve.

I stood up and grabbed the glass before Anders could raise it to his lips. The barkeep retrieved it without expression, tossing the remainder of the drink down her throat before polishing the glass and putting it in front of another thirsty customer. I took the bottle and moved through the crowd to where Isabela was perched precariously on a stool. She was wearing a shirt, I discovered, but not much of one. She had rolled the sleeves of her jacket up past her elbows and her dark skin looked like polished mahogany in the low light. She was in trousers, the only woman in the bar that I could see in pants, but somehow she looked all the more dangerous wrapped up in all that clothing. And the masculine clothing did nothing to hide her curves, something that the man on the stool next to her seemed to more than appreciate.

She ignored his leer, and the elf beside her did too, though with increasing difficulty.

“Brought the bottle back?” she asked as I held it out. “Such a gentleman. I hardly ever find gentlemen nowadays.”

“Not here,” I replied.

Isabela’s grin had been used while she broke hearts and while she broke arms, two good reasons for staying out of arm’s reach with her. Anders was against my back, either because of the crowd or to remind me just why we’d ventured into the dive in the first place.

“Is that so?” She shrugged her shoulders and her breasts bounced at the movement. “Might have to go to bed alone then. And you know how much I hate that, ducky. But with two gorgeous men in front of me, I’m sure that won’t happen.”

The elf growled something into his glass and the man on Isabela’s other side nearly tipped off his stool. Could’ve been from the gin, though.

Anders’ chin was hard on my shoulder. “Any port in a storm, huh?”

“Ooh, he’s cute one.” Isabela nudged the elf, who shifted away from her prodding elbow. “I like cute one. You’re a lot of things, ducky, but cute isn’t one of them. But you have other qualities that I admire.”

“Is that an invitation?” I asked.

“I’ve got a room in the back,” she said as she leaned in closer. She tugged on my tie and I stepped closer. Anders moved with me and for a hot moment I was pressed between them. When she spoke again, her breath was rum-warm against my face. “We’re sailing out soon.”

“Not waiting for the tide?’

Another shrug. “It’s getting crowded here, don’t you think?”

I need to turn around to look. Isabela’s stare had turned steely and Anders grew rigid behind me.

Isabela spun on the stool. “Barkeep, another round!” she called out jovially. Then in a voice quiet enough just for me and the elf to hear, she added. “I’ll meet you in my room.”

It took a shove to get Anders moving. There was nothing I could see in the mess of people to suggest a raid, but Isabela suspected it, and that was a good enough diagnosis for me. Anders dug his heels in with each step, twisting hard under my hands to stare over his shoulder. “Let’s go,” I growled. “Don’t attract attention.”

Glass breaking silenced the joint for a moment and we both stopped in our tracks. I felt my pulse bang against my holstered gun until that seemed to freeze too. But then the music and the dancing and the shrieks that could’ve been from pleasure or pain filled up the Pearl again. I got ahead of him and pulled him along behind me, finding his elbow and grabbing it too tight for him to shake me off.

There were rooms in the bed for those who wanted to sample even more of the Pearl’s charms. Only one of them had a trapdoor leading out to the piers - something an earlier case had uncovered - and I knew that had to be the room Isabela had claimed. While I wiggled the handle I kept Anders’ hand pinned against my side, his palm warm through my suit. He was being unusually compliant; a glance behind me discovered that it was distraction, not obedience that was keeping him still. Anders was staring behind us, staring with that intensity again that made me think that he could see through the writhing people, see something that I couldn’t.

It had to be the angle, the way the shadows fell across his long nose and stubborn chin. Or maybe my sight was finally going. But there was something about his face, something about the way his eyes set or his mouth closed. For a moment he didn’t look at Anders at all; for a moment I was looking at some other man, someone else wearing Anders’ suit.

“Templars,” he said, making the word sound like a curse. “There’s no place they don’t get into, like a fungus, or an infection. I can’t get far enough, can’t go deep enough, can’t ever really escape.

“Might be the guards,” I suggested weakly. Then I shook my head and said more firmly, “We aren’t going to find out.”

I got the door open and yanked him in after me. The room was bare; even the bed was just a stripped-down mattress. I released Anders and bent down by the trapdoor, then pried it open to frown down into the darkness. Outside the night had grown even more thick, and misty fingers of salt and sewer steam crept in through the cracks of the glass. I could barely make out the wet slap of waves against the piers. it’d be a damp escape, but an escape none the less. I stood back up, searching for my cigarettes again. Anders stuffed his hands in his pockets and then fell hard against the door, leaning on it to keep it closed.

“Nate,” he said, then stopped, clearing his throat.

I glanced at him before heading to the window to look outside. Even with the light from the Pearl oozing into the night, it was dark on the water, and wherever Isabela’s ship was, it was hidden from me.

“Nate.”

“What is it, Anders?” I let the curtain fall back into place. Squinting into the darkness did no one any good, but I had to keep an eye out, had to do something. The whole night had been too easy. Strange, for sure, like all nights spent with Anders, but nagging at me like some dog at my heels was a dread, an unease that had gripped me as soon as I’d seen the jimmied lock on my door.

I hadn’t heard him move, but when I turned around I collided with him and I grabbed him out of instinct, pinning his wrists down. “Damn! Anders, what the-”

“We can go together.” He said, low and hard and with thunder of a building storm. “You can come with me.”

“What? Are you mad?”

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t a question. His hands shook in mine and under my thumbs I felt an erratic pulse. Maybe it was shock, maybe the templars had finally broken up the party, but silence filled the room so intense that it banged in my ears. In his stolen suit and hat, Anders didn’t even look like the man in the barracks - and that thought was followed by an even dingier one - maybe he wasn’t. Anders’ hair was following free, slicking down his long face and framing his eyes, which were suddenly hard for me to meet.

“Come on, Anders. You know you don’t need me anymore.” Anders always wanted, but he never really needed; a lesson that we’d learned the hard way.

Outside a cacophony broke out, like everyone had been waiting for just the right moment, synchronizing for some performance. Anders shook harder until his whole body was quaking, and he said again in his quiet, urgent voice, “Come with me. It doesn’t have to end this way.”

“What?” I dropped him to move toward the door. There was no mistaking the noise for anything else - a fight. But between who? I leaned against the splintery door frame and reached under my jacket; fingers touched the grip but before I could pull the gun out, Anders was one me again. He shoved my shoulder, turning me around to face him.

The kiss was hard, with teeth on my lips that seemed to be trying to eradicate his earlier softness. But I lost myself in it anyway, with the templars or wardens or guards outside, with Isabela’s ship stalling in the docks - Forgot it all and closed my eyes.

I almost didn’t feel his hand snake up my side.

“Kiss of death-” I managed to say before Anders’ clever hands yanked the gun out of the holster. Those brandy eyes wavered, tears in them or maybe in my own, and Anders didn’t look away when he hit me. It was those eyes that were the last thing I saw before the room went black and the floor caught my fall.

Things happened like they did in dreams - disjointed images, nonsensical conversations, time that moved too fast, too slow. A splash of cold water on my face made me open my eyes completely, then curse and turn my face away from the lamp pointing with burning brightness at me.

“Nathaniel Howe, you are in templar custody. Howe, wake up. Do you hear me? You’re at templar HQ.”

“Yeah,” I said, spitting away the water that was dripping down my nose and into my mouth. “I heard you.”

My head was throbbing like Anders was still banging on it. Hands were locked behind me and my arms ached for it. Down on the floor I saw my feet plus the shiny black snake-skin shoes of three templars. Looking up I squinted until I recognized the Knight-Corporal, but the two fresh-faced temps behind were new to me. And by their expressions, a lot of what they were seeing was new to them, too.

“Now, Howe,” the Corporal, a particularly proud import from Lothering named Mitchum. “We’re going to start from the beginning, from last evening when the wanted criminal using the alias of Anders first contacted you.”

“What’s the charge?”

The two young templars hadn’t been expecting that, staring like I’d undone the handcuffs and pulled some sort of rabbit out of my Stetson.

“You have a laundry list of them, Howe.”

“Indulge me.” I hoped it wasn’t a request that would bite me back. It was hard to get my thoughts to cooperate, to hear them over the throb in my skull. But even I could could figure didn’t have any physical evidence: they didn’t have the authority to get in my office, and even if they had, I knew that Anders hadn’t left anything useful.

“There’s no need to play this game, Howe. We have witnesses that place you with Anders at the Pearl.” The Corporal pointed a finger like he wished it were a gun. “Ser Marlene dragged you out of the Pearl herself. And even you can’t wiggle out from that allegation.”

“What allegation?” I asked irritably. They could have at least offered a cup of coffee. “That I was at the Pearl? You’ll end up arresting the whole Order if that’s a crime now.”

His office was small and dark, with images of the Order hung around every wall, in case we forgot where we were, who we were with. Andraste was piously burning over on my left, her eyes sorrowful, like her immolation wasn’t enough to keep her from being distracted by pity over my situation. There were plaques too, commending the Corporal for his record of arrests done in the name of Her Divine. I suspected he hoped my case - Anders’ case - would get him a shiny new star for him to polish.

Mitchum steepled his fingers and I thought about Anders, about how he’ done the same, just hours earlier. They hadn’t gotten him; I was the consolation prize of the raid, something that no one was happy about. He cleared his throat and said amicably enough, “You are going to tell us why you were bound and unconscious when we found you.”

I tilted my head back and listened to my neck crack. The ceiling was covered in poorly painted over water stains, blotches like clouds. I chuckled a bit, which hurt. “You still haven’t told me under what charge you’re keeping me here, Knight-Corporal.”

He had the same expression as the Andraste icon when he slapped me. And maybe he really did think it was for my own good, that physical pain was the cost of spiritual salvation. He rubbed his palm afterward, thoughtfully. “I don’t like having my time wasted, Howe.”

The routine went on like that, both of us playing through our roles. For how long I didn’t know; counting my breaths or the pounds of my pulse in my ears didn’t give me a reliable sense of time passing. Then, just when I thought that they’d have to tie me to the chair to keep me from falling out of it, there was a noise from the other side of the door. The Corporal stood up from behind his desk, barking an order to the templars outside to keep the noise down.

The woman who opened the door was not Ser Marlene, though the templar did come stumbling in after her. “You can’t come in here, Serah, Knight-Corporal Mitchum can’t be disturbed-”

Too late for that. The Chief stood silent and furious and gorgeous as always while the templars scrambled around her. And she’d had enough of their squawking, she put up her hand. She wasn’t in uniform. Even better - she was in a suit with her coat draped over her shoulders like a cape. That was a deliberate message: this wasn’t just warden business. It was good to see her, but it would’ve been better if she brought me a drink.

The Chief ignored Mitchum and stared at me instead. Almost hurt to look at her, or maybe it was just my headache. “Chief,” I said and tried not to croak it.

She nodded at me and seated herself across from Mitchum. He steepled his hands again and inhaled a breath to start off his speech, but the Chief got the first word, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

That surprised him, but only for a moment. “Your wardens went too far this time,” he replied, looking annoyed that he wasn’t going to have a chance to do the song and dance routine with the Chief, too. He slid a folder across the desk at her, full of my indiscretions since I arrived in the city, but the Chief ignored it. “He was aiding a recognized and known apos-”

“Where?”

The question was abrupt, another unexpected wall in Mitchum’s path. “The Pearl,” he replied, then hurried on before she could shoot another interrupt at him, “where he was seen conversing with the criminal-”

“When?”

He was better prepared for her question this time. “Approximately midnight. Though I’m not sure why that matters.”

My head hurt too much to try to figure out what she was hoping to accomplish with her one-word questions. Looking at her gave me no clues either: she wasn’t worried, but still mad. Mitchum was clearly trying to discern the same things as me. And was having about as much luck.

“We have a number of witnesses who can attest to seeing not only Howe but also his companion,” he said after the pause in the conversation was left unfilled by the Chief. “As I was saying, he entered with the man known under the alias of Anders.”

Mitchum could have said “apostate,” again. Or “warden.” The Chief’s expression hadn’t changed and I hoped mine didn't either when the realization finally stumbled through my head: he knew about whatever Anders wouldn’t tell me. And whatever it was that Anders had done, his position in the wardens was no longer protection enough. I should have pressed him when I had had the chance. Instead I’d let him seduce me, let him get under my clothes with just some pretty smiles and vague explanations. He was gone now but still under my skin, and I got to experience regret along with all the aches and pains the night had left for me.

“Witnesses at the Pearl are the best you can do? Either they were drunk or,” she paused to lean forward and said in a low voice as icy as the Frozen Sea, “if they were your people, wasted on lyrium.”

Silence from the peanut gallery.

When she shoved her chair back the legs squealed against the tile. “We’re leaving, Nathanial.”

“This isn’t your jurisdiction!” 

“This is my city!” She banged her fist on Mitchum’s desk. Almost immediately she retracted her hand and stood up straight again, embarrassed and reining herself in. When she spoke again after a few heavy breaths her voice was a quiet hiss. “And if you don’t like it, go back to Orlais.”

She was mixing Warden and Crown authority, coming up with some weird amalgamation of the two. But whatever that result was, it had the weaknesses of both along with the strength. The Commander probably knew it and there was another pregnant moment where she was waiting for him to call her out on it. One city wasn’t big enough for the three factions, and out of the Wardens, the Crown, and the Chantry, only the last group had never collapsed in Ferelden.

Whole thing made my head hurt.

The tinkle of metal finally ended the stare down - Mitchum slid the key to my cuffs across the desk. So he was hedging his bets and playing a dutiful citizen. I wondered how long that would last. As long as he kept it up until we were gone, it didn’t matter to me.

HQ was bustling as we left, but the Chief made them all shut up as we past groups of templars and whoever else they’d managed to catch the night before. Her big, black Model A was parked in the tow-away zone, a massive roosting crow. She took my arm as we went down the steps like she was afraid I’d roll down them and humiliate her in front of the templar spectators. Probably for the best: legs only mostly heard my commands and only mostly obeyed them, and without that hand clasped over my elbow I might have rolled down the steps and finished the job that Mitchum - and Anders before him - had started.

She held the door and shoved me in, and when she started the car up, it purred to life. She turned off the radio scanner so the ride was a quiet one. Little traffic on the streets, so early. The Chief did her ruminations in silent until she turned to me while we were stopped at a light. “I got a call from Zevran last night.”

“So I owe him one, too.”

“No, he owed me.” I had nothing to say to that and she had nothing to add, so the silence came back. The light changed and we started up again, down Valarian Road. “How are you, Nathaniel? Do you need me to stop at a clinic?”

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass window. “Just drop me off at my office.”

“You need to go home. You’re a mess, and that’s only partially the templars’ fault.”

“Office.”

I heard her sigh. “Zevran said Isabela was probably heading north,” she said at last. “Probably toward the Marshes, but if we’re lucky they’ll go all the way to Rivain.”

“Are you going to find him?”

“No,” she said so firmly that I cracked an eye open to look at her. Her face was tight and her hands gripped the steering so hard that her leather gloves creaked. “We’re not going to do anything so long as the templars don’t.”

I needed to ask about what the catalyst to it all was, about whatever it was that had happened in Amaranthine while me and the Chief twiddled our thumbs in Denerim. I needed to ask and the question was right there, waiting to be turned into words, but my chest hurt and my mouth did too, so instead I swallowed dryly and watched the rising sun turn the streets from dark to gold, then fade back to their usual grey.

When she parked outside my office, she kept the motor running. Fine by me - I wasn’t ready to entertain. I got out slow and was standing with the door still open when she offered her farewell.

“I know he was getting letters from Kirkwall,” she said. She didn’t look at me as she spoke, but when she had finished she twisted to look up into my face. Her eyes were wide and mouth partially open, and I remembered that I’d been in love with her once, for all that good that’d done me or her.

“From who?”

She shook her head. “Jowan said from the Circle. The Head Enchanter? I’m going to the barracks today. I’ll find out.”

Before I could close the door, she added, more quietly and more to herself, “I haven’t been able to get through to anyone there.”

That made me stop, made the whole world stop and go silent. We looked at each other and I wished I was still in love with her so I wouldn’t have to be in love with Anders. She stretched out her hand and I bent down and grabbed it in mine. She wasn’t a mage but for a moment it was like I could feel something pass between us, some gentle spell to heal my black eye or make my tired legs fast again. “Don’t go alone,” I told her. “Get someone - anyone. Alistair. Zevran.”

“The templars are probably there already,” she said wryly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of myself. I always do.”

“I want to check on a few things. But I’ll follow you up. Tomorrow maybe.”

“Thank you, Nathaniel.” She let go and my hand fell to my side, then she turned around again and shifted her car back into drive. “I’ll let you know how it works out. Get home soon. Take a shower, sleep a little, then catch the morning train. I want a full report then.”

She’d gone back to being a Chief and me a warden. If there was something clever or inspirational to add to that, I couldn't think of it. “Yes ser."

I didn’t watch her car pull away. Instead I watched my feet in their scuffed shoes the whole slow way up the stairs. The neighbors were still quiet, or maybe they just hadn’t gotten home yet: no noise from the elves, no light from under the apostate’s door. The writing on my door still said my name and when I touched the knob it was still loose and shaky, but this time when I opened up my office it was empty inside. Untouched and still, a tomb for all my unsolved cases and untied ends. And I didn’t want to disturb it.

I checked for signs of a templar search, but there was no indication that anyone had gotten in before me. Not even Anders. I dropped my hat and coat on the couch, which hid the imprint of the long body that had lain on it the night before.

It took me a couple of tries to light a cigarette. Maybe my matches were damp from the night before, but whatever the reason I left a pile of matchsticks at my feet, making patterns that only a Rivani like Isabela could make sense out of. Looking out the window through the grime on the pane at the grime on the streets and the buildings beyond, I wondered where she’d scrambled away to.

The smoke made twirling tendrils that blew up to stain the ceiling. I leaned against the window frame and watched the smoke instead of the street. I didn’t want to keep looking for someone who wasn’t there and wouldn’t ever be coming.

The sun kept rising and more light fell through the window, illuminating my scuffed shoes and all the ash around them. When it got too bright I found my way to the back of the office and rummaged through my desk, more to make enough noise to convince the neighbors that I didn’t just rent the cave to bring home pips. There was still a clutter of pens and papers that I had to clean up; I grabbed the important stuff and kicked the rest of it away. They’d wait where they’d fallen until I had time to clean, whenever that would be.

The files I didn’t get to the night before were waiting in my drawer. I pulled them out and took them to the file cabinet. The cases didn’t matter now. The dead would wait for me to type up everything I knew about Anders and some of the things we did the night before. When I opened the cabinet, I stopped and stood there for a moment. The order was disturbed. Someone had gone through them. 

I rubbed at my chin, feeling the scruff growing over the bruises, and then with a sigh I pulled out the whole lot. I had Anders or the templars to thank for the mess, unless there was some faction I’d pissed off without knowing. 

They weren’t anything important. I flipped through the names on the folder tabs, remembering the details. The files were just brief collections of intel, my notes on the wardens recruited by the Chief and her man Varel, before he’d been given a ticket to that great barracks in the Fade, compliments of a friendly bullet to the heart. When she’d left the barracks for Denerim, the Chief had hired someone to take over those administrative duties. Digging up their past, their potential, and the reasons why they wanted to join the Wardens - a job with few benefits and no retirement plan - had been one of services I provided at no extra cost. 

I couldn’t see why anyone had pulled them out. Until I flipped open the first folder.

Most of the first page basic information typed up by me in nice, neat lines: Name, parents, location and date of birth, occupation, names of contacts; brief summary of personal history, brief summary of personality. Clipped to the top of the paper was a headshot. Standard, all of it.

But there in pen, in large but neat letters, was something new, done while he’d been waiting for me to come back and offer myself up as his latest patsy. It was from Anders, it had to be, and suddenly I realized why he had risked running from the wardens. 

Written along the top margin, two words that made my headache pound and my knees get brittle: TEMPLAR. KILLED.

I lowered myself down into my chair and spread the files across my desk. My fingers found a cigarette and lit it for me, and I smoked without tasting it. Anders had always been selfish, but he’d never been mercenary, and he wouldn’t have killed them for fun or even for spite. There had to have been some reason for it, but whatever it was I couldn’t see it. I thought back to the way he had looked in the night, those flashes and expressions that looked like someone else’s, stolen like the money and passport.

He had asked me to come with him. As a hostage? To keep me quiet? Or to keep out of templar sight? I told myself it didn’t matter anyway. Told myself, and tried to believe it. 

When the cigarette burnt down to my knuckles I sat slowly back up to stub it out. The folders I gathered up and slid into a file wallet. I reached for the telephone, but couldn’t make the call to the Chief. Instead I stood and gathered up my things. I’d go home first, clean up so I didn’t scare the other passengers, then get on the train heading north. She’d get the report in person, with the files and anything else I could tell her. Most of it, anyway. Enough of it. She’d have to be content with that. The templars would get nothing from me. I owed Anders that much, at least. Even if he did the crimes I’d been imagining, even if he was the criminal I’d labeled him -

The way he’d treated me, the night before -

I got nothing but a headache and news that made no one happy.


End file.
